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Nolan P Aug 5
Maybe I’m just bad at beginnings

Or even moreso terrible at endings

The only thing viable is to stop seeing

The change as doors to other realms

And see the shift in my soul

As opening windows to

The parts of me yet unknown.
Caroline Jul 18
The darkness filtered in across the Wind River Range
Drifting through the ancient spaces of Arapaho plains,
And I, still a child of sixteen,
Huddled in a sleeping bag,
Staring up at a vast black sky,
Patterned with the scattered dancing
Of a million stars.
And the wind, it felt like freedom
And the mountains they were beating
With some kind of barely audible drum.
But I could feel it in my bones,
Like the faintest whisper;
“This is home.”

And so I let the darkness
Fall all around me.
And later, in the depths of an Arapaho ceremony,
I felt my skin cascade
My ribs break
And suddenly, from my naked heart,
I just knew how to pray.

That opening, it never closed,
So that, even now,
The dust of sacred things
Clings tightly to my soul.
And in the blindness of the crowds
I desperately chase it,
Through the veils of common day
I find new ways to trace it.

That light.

It is there, you know. Can you see it?

When just born, we can.
I see it in my children’s eyes,
The lingering of a love
Stronger than all the love of man,
So devoid of fear, unfaltering, pure,
So beautiful that when I hold them
My hearts breaks apart in tears.

And I don’t want to lose it.

That light.

All my life, I’ve sought the broken, held the strays,
Caressed the wounded spaces,
Tried so hard to mend the pieces,
Trailing blood along the way.
And the blood it bleeds from a place of honesty;
Yet, selfishly, washes away the layers of protection
People create
Exposing them to me
Feeding my soul the light that I so desperately seek.

And now, you.
You, burning with the same light that I’ve always known,
And I, like a child again, facing the Arapaho moon,
I can feel these sacred things move
Between us
Like remembrances of some other home.
Realms of pure imagination
Spark my heart and my desire
Soon I feel the inspiration
Urging me to go much higher
Oh, imagine all my angels
Rushing down with wings afire
Oh, imagine all my angels
Bringing all that I require

Worlds of pure imagination
Stir the yearnings of my mind
Filling me with motivation
Adding to my rich design
I imagine wealth and beauty
In my outer world combined
I imagine wealth and beauty
When I seek then I will find

Fields of pure imagination
This is where my work must start
For the outer worlds of matter
Build upon the mind and heart
I imagine and I prosper
Building wealth this way is smart
I imagine and I prosper
Forming wealth is mental art
This is Prosperity Poem 22 at  and you can see it displayed on a beautiful background here
Daniel eason Oct 2018
These shamanic cultures in which we don't seem to mention
Could do with us taking our time to pay them more attention
As these people know the ways our of earth
They know they are one with nature straight from birth
The places they visit
Our holy spirit
Inside everything you and I
No need to suffer and cry
It's located in your pineal third gland eye
A poem on how native tribes have alot more knowledge than we think. We are the ones who could take a leaf out of their books. Let's look in the mirror for a moment.
Arcassin B Sep 2018
By Arcassin Burnham

If I could find you , I would dine you,
There's no chance that I will,
There's no doubt in my mind that the
good will prevail,
If I could find you , be incline to,
I wouldn't ever decline you,
Pick up every call you swindle my way,
Thats a virtue,
Hopefully I could make it reality,
Doing these sins regardless is penalty,
See the pressure in this life is killing me,
Got a bounty on myself , people out for me,
Over the years made plenty of enemies,
I'm dry to the fact their not as half as me,
Face it , I'm a human being,
Feel like an alien loop landing.

If I could find you , then I'll tell you I'm
glad to be here with you,
I know love is being stored in these clouds,
Like sticky residue,
Sure would be nice to dream of world where
people won't hate you.
Pagan Paul Jun 2018

     creates shadows,
          places of magick
               and realms of mystery.
Niches beyond the wildest dreams
     playing with images in colour dimensions,
          pouring their scorn on the childish imagination,
               a weakling substitute for what cannot be known.

© Pagan Paul (04/06/18)
1st line 1 word, 2nd line 2 words etc etc.
Vexren4000 Mar 2018
A facade worn,
By every human you contact,
A facade of caring,
A social construct, a mask
Not abstract, or non existent,
But one every being,
Incorporates to functionally fit in,
In a world full,
Of hypocrisy.
Mark Wanless Dec 2017
"Wet Green Rock"

The wet green rock
That is our world
Floats round and round
A flaming torch
That sends its rays
Through cold dark space
To warm the air and land
And thus is formed
The womb and tomb
In which we live
Our mortal days
And pained we dream
Of other realms
To lay beyond this sphere
Paul Butters Aug 2017
Let’s go to an antimatter universe
Where hot ice solidifies
Under the black light of the freezing sun.
A world where short giraffes hide beneath
The tall grass, amongst low trees.
See those high plains, watery deserts and low mountains.
Slow flies crawl over red skies
As turtles and tortoises speed around.
Here, hot sun is an oxymoron
And everything is downside up.

Or if you prefer we could visit a realm
Like on “Red Dwarf”
Where time flies backwards:
People formed from dusty death
To live and grow youthful
On the way to an inevitable birth
And death again
When parental **** parts from *****.

Paul Butters
This was fun.
M Harris Apr 2017
Magnetic Contaminations & Audiotronic Visions,
Sublimating Poetic Transmutations Of Her Catatonic Provisions,

Primordial Metamorphosis Of Her Synthetic Overtunes,
Revealing Self-Perpetuated Biotic Tunes,

Protoplasmic Sparks In Her Cryptic Eyes,
Condensing Into Labyrinthine Whispers & Mortal Butterflies,

Myriad Phantasms On Feral Nights,
Fervid Effigies Under Moaning Lights,

Phantasmal Echoes & Mystic Whisperings,
Catalyzing Crepuscular Skies Under A Moonlit Spring,

Spiritual Crafts & Her Supernova Screams,
Evaporating Molotov Solution Of Her Liquified Dreams,

Untouched Realms & Her Ecstatic Overflows,
Refueling With Fantasy Effects Of Her Verbal Glows,

Arcane Stains & Her Floral Clones,
Primal Profanity Raining Over Her Coral Throne,

Handmade Essence Of Her Still-Born Eternity,
Recklessly Serenading Through Her Lacteal Galaxy,

Hypersonic Dreams & Venomous Virility,
Tampering Her Ionic Revelations Of Exquisite Hostility,

Progressive Factuals & Her Motionless Serenity,
Invocating  Her Violets Serving Blue Infinity,

Apparitional Mirrors & Her Immaculate Misconceptions,
Weaponizing Fireflies In Whisky Perceptions.

- 05:52AM -
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